Lana stood staring at her wrist. No one was there.
“Lana.”
“Aidan.” Her words shook as violently as her hand as she lifted it. A vicious row of welts rose on her wrist, quickly spreading across her arm in bubbling pustules.
“Shit.” The trembling gun in his hand weighed heavily as he rushed past Lana. The brightly lit hall was empty. He ran to the end, but saw no one.
Whoever had been at her door could have gotten away, or they could be waiting in hiding to see how quickly the coroner showed up. Killers didn’t tend to strike and then hope their victim died.
With his heart slamming against his ribs like a wrecking ball, Aidan returned to Lana. She sagged against the wall, pale and shaky. He holstered his gun, wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to the couch. “Stay calm. What are you allergic to?”
“Cats.” She rubbed at her throat. Coughed. “There’s an EpiPen in my purse.”
Her strangled and weak voice kept him from asking why she had an epinephrine auto-injector in her purse or if she always carried it. Instead he retrieved it quickly and shot it into her outer thigh like he’d been taught in a first aid class. Almost instantly the rash that now covered her arm slowed its growth and her breathing eased. With quaking hands and a worried heart, he brushed Lana’s hair off her forehead and pulled his cell out to call 9-1-1.
She paled more and began sweating, a side effect of the drug according to the 9-1-1 dispatcher. The man’s calming voice did nothing to ease Aidan’s stress. The director’s daughter had just been attacked by an allergy killer while an agent had been in the next room. The woman he cared for lay before him with a deadly rash moving across her satin skin.
Lana kept her eyes closed while she listened to the drip of her IV and the hushed sounds of the hospital beyond her door. Her arm itched with the anger of fire ant bites, but the itching stopped just below her shoulder. That had to be a good sign. Not that she wanted to look to see if the pustules so many had died from were still covering her. Too chicken to look, she rolled her head to the opposite side and eased her eyes open.
Full night had fallen and altered the appearance of the hospital wing opposite of her room. The stark building with reflective glass and giant air conditioners on the roof had been romanticized by the moon’s glimmering light and a few muted lights shining in rooms.
She’d been put in a private room that had a couch for company rather than the standard, impossibly uncomfortable chair. Half stretched out on that couch, with his head falling back against the top and his legs bent so he didn’t slide off the faux leather cushions was Aidan.
His vibrancy stilled in the relaxation of sleep, yet a pinch of tension held firm at the corner of his sporadically twitching eyes. Through the clearing haze of medication she recalled him flashing his badge and threatening a doctor’s genitalia.
He’d been ready to fight her, but ended up fighting for her. He’d fought for her while shoving the EpiPen she’d gotten as a precaution of the case in her leg. Fought to stay at her side when the EMTs would have left him to follow the ambulance. Fought to stay with her when the nurses and doctors had wanted to examine her alone.
Agent Alpha who wanted to ignore her instead stood guard. “Who’d have guessed it?”
“You’re awake.” Aidan opened his eyes and moved to her side in a fluid stride lacking all hints of tiredness. Rhythmically he swept his hand back and forth along her rash-ridden arm. “Guessed what?”
She was careful to keep her gaze on his face, to not look at the swollen and distorted limb that would have killed her if he hadn’t been there. Her life had been spent with men and women of all skill sets. Military men hired by her father in an attempt to make sure she was able to protect herself had taught her martial arts and traditional self-defense. She’d become
“Lana.”
“Aidan.” Her words shook as violently as her hand as she lifted it. A vicious row of welts rose on her wrist, quickly spreading across her arm in bubbling pustules.
“Shit.” The trembling gun in his hand weighed heavily as he rushed past Lana. The brightly lit hall was empty. He ran to the end, but saw no one.
Whoever had been at her door could have gotten away, or they could be waiting in hiding to see how quickly the coroner showed up. Killers didn’t tend to strike and then hope their victim died.
With his heart slamming against his ribs like a wrecking ball, Aidan returned to Lana. She sagged against the wall, pale and shaky. He holstered his gun, wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to the couch. “Stay calm. What are you allergic to?”
“Cats.” She rubbed at her throat. Coughed. “There’s an EpiPen in my purse.”
Her strangled and weak voice kept him from asking why she had an epinephrine auto-injector in her purse or if she always carried it. Instead he retrieved it quickly and shot it into her outer thigh like he’d been taught in a first aid class. Almost instantly the rash that now covered her arm slowed its growth and her breathing eased. With quaking hands and a worried heart, he brushed Lana’s hair off her forehead and pulled his cell out to call 9-1-1.
She paled more and began sweating, a side effect of the drug according to the 9-1-1 dispatcher. The man’s calming voice did nothing to ease Aidan’s stress. The director’s daughter had just been attacked by an allergy killer while an agent had been in the next room. The woman he cared for lay before him with a deadly rash moving across her satin skin.
Lana kept her eyes closed while she listened to the drip of her IV and the hushed sounds of the hospital beyond her door. Her arm itched with the anger of fire ant bites, but the itching stopped just below her shoulder. That had to be a good sign. Not that she wanted to look to see if the pustules so many had died from were still covering her. Too chicken to look, she rolled her head to the opposite side and eased her eyes open.
Full night had fallen and altered the appearance of the hospital wing opposite of her room. The stark building with reflective glass and giant air conditioners on the roof had been romanticized by the moon’s glimmering light and a few muted lights shining in rooms.
She’d been put in a private room that had a couch for company rather than the standard, impossibly uncomfortable chair. Half stretched out on that couch, with his head falling back against the top and his legs bent so he didn’t slide off the faux leather cushions was Aidan.
His vibrancy stilled in the relaxation of sleep, yet a pinch of tension held firm at the corner of his sporadically twitching eyes. Through the clearing haze of medication she recalled him flashing his badge and threatening a doctor’s genitalia.
He’d been ready to fight her, but ended up fighting for her. He’d fought for her while shoving the EpiPen she’d gotten as a precaution of the case in her leg. Fought to stay at her side when the EMTs would have left him to follow the ambulance. Fought to stay with her when the nurses and doctors had wanted to examine her alone.
Agent Alpha who wanted to ignore her instead stood guard. “Who’d have guessed it?”
“You’re awake.” Aidan opened his eyes and moved to her side in a fluid stride lacking all hints of tiredness. Rhythmically he swept his hand back and forth along her rash-ridden arm. “Guessed what?”
She was careful to keep her gaze on his face, to not look at the swollen and distorted limb that would have killed her if he hadn’t been there. Her life had been spent with men and women of all skill sets. Military men hired by her father in an attempt to make sure she was able to protect herself had taught her martial arts and traditional self-defense. She’d become
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